my most dearly beloved city,
today i cried for you
i thought of everyone
who can walk your streets
hear the laughter in your air
smell the magic everywhere
while my heart freezes
here in exile.
on the outside
when you have tried and failed
when you are ashamed, and feel small
you must comfort yourself
who else will comfort you
when you have worked
but found yourself
back at the start
you must fight bitterness and resentment
who else will fight for you
when a moment of grace
passes like a mirage
and feels like life too,
was laughing at you
when you are alone.
when you hunger
and life floods you with chalk for bread
you must stand by yourself
who else will stand by you
when you are defeated
when you are broken
you must carry on
who else will carry you
when you are scared
when you are sad
you must heal yourself
who else will heal you+
when you have loved, and been laughed at
when you feel ashamed, and cheap
you must teach yourself
to let the waves of feelings pass
perhaps all of this hurt
will make you stronger,
if you bear it well
pain wont kill you
it's not poison*
*+borrowed & para-phrased from buddha and dylan, respectively :-)
there is something magical about fall evenings.
like old photographs in sepia.
a soft fading of the images
like cushioning times blows
the skies peep silver
behind mountains of grey
and across them, the trees
and wink with drops of rain
there is something defiant about fall evenings.
as the day looks its fate in the face
will sometimes waft
into a dream
in an hour between late night
and early morning
like the hint of a fragrance on a breeze
and be gone, before
you can be quite sure
if you imagined it
it was a day full of sun-warmed grace
it was a day of ambling down
almost familiar lanes
life gurgling inside,
and bubbles of words floating up in the breeze
then suddenly evening came.
and the bubble burst
there an almost missed train
as i walked by the station, an older man
and a young boy, suddenly woke up from the conversation
they were lost in and scrambled out of the car when the whistle blew
there was an air of affection
as drivers half-smiling as they squinted
into the near-blinding sun
there was a story abandoned in labour
there was laughing stumbling and awkwardness
as the forgetten words, lives, and selves were re-embraced
possibly the last time before this life dies
after the last burst of colours
trailing summers bloom
in the soft bittersweet poignancy of fall
winter sets in.
bleak and cold
with an occasional bright sunny day; and often
a dark stormy spell.
cold days with sharp winds
and the little leaves that have died
fallen of the trees
run away from the wind in hordes,
like little children
the days are just empty, like the branches of the trees
quiet desperation is
when you feel like your insides will burst.
when you want to cry scream or jump off a bridge.
when there is no hope no end no escape.
when you most desperately want a friend,
but know you are most absolutely alone.
but when you stare blankly at a empty wall.
or laugh and talk to people around about in-consequentialities.
for sharp sudden fits. like vertigo.
inbetween long days and nights of feeling blank
while you stare blankly at a empty wall
i had never been able to finish reading anna karenina. its too sad. yesterday someone let slip that she dies in the end.
i feel so sad ... yet its fitting. anna had to die. as maggie died (mill on the floss). as the same someone said, when you make love your god, that love becomes a demon.
then you either have to run away from it, or if you cant, then you have to die yourrself
that is why patricia (breathless) turns him in. she sees that once she falls under his spell there will be no escape, no "she" left
that is why Lucy dies
if not they would become what heathcliff became
i think its a disease, letting someone else become a part of you too much & for too long. its a natural & important capacity to be able to (mother child, start of affair, community bonding) grown dis proportionate & malignant
like a cancer
after the last burst of colours trailing summers bloom
in the soft bittersweet poignancy of fall
winter sets in. bleak and cold
with an occasional bright sunny day
and often a dark stormy spell
and cold days with sharp winds
and the little leaves that have died and fallen of the trees
run away from the wind in hordes, like little children
but mostly the days are just empty, like the branches of the trees
little sounds of a world
curling up to sleep
the urgent whistle of the train
softly in the distance
a call to the road betrayed
by a gypsy out of breath
the untimely chirp of a bird
somewhere outside the house
wandering a cat i cant love
and a few restless unsorted memories